


The Chronicles of The Tum and The Crow's Nest

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Brokeback Mountain reunites, Cuddling & Snuggling, Everything is Cool When You're Part of a Team, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, Lenny Stays Dead, M/M, everything is awesome, prompt fills, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 11:30:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7616401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One big moment between Mick and Ray and five little moments after.</p><p>[includes the following prompts:<br/>saavikam77: Atomwave prompt: Mick lets Ray tinker with the Chronos suit.<br/>youreturningscarletscarlet: Mick and Ray getting into an argument over pokemon<br/>youreturningscarletscarlet: why is the roof on fire, Mick no<br/>pretzel-log1c: Atomwave, watching cooking shows]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chronicles of The Tum and The Crow's Nest

**Author's Note:**

> Flashpoint? What's that?
> 
> Also, definitely made up a town for #3. And don't count on historical accuracy. Please.

**1\. Maintenance**

After a while, Mick's gotten used to the idea of the Snart-shaped hole at his side the way third-degree burns destroy your nerves until you can't feel them anymore. He's found a friend in Sara Lance, one of respect and something close to understanding, but there's no thirty years of shared history there; sure, he can look her in the eye and tell her he knows what it is to die, multiple times over, but she's nothing like Lenny's cold. He never thought he'd miss puns so much.

But he can look at the charred burns, can talk about it. So he can look at Haircut and think about how hard Snart'd be smirkin' his stupid face off right about now.

Mick's never lost a bet to anyone who isn't a Snart. But the night before a mission, Ray ducked into the galley where Mick'd finally found some fucking Milky Ways (Lenny'd appreciate the pun) and, with his little puppy smile, asked, "Penny for your thoughts?"

...and here's the thing: after getting knocked off the team, after Chronos, Mick made a conscious effort to be a team player so Snart couldn't toss him aside again. He didn't expect it to be an actual "fake it 'til you make it" thing, but now he _cares_ about the assholes, where he only liked Jax and Sara before. If he'd been the guy who asked Snart what the fuck he was thinking with this Englishman, he'd tell himself that he'd gone soft.

"Finally found sugar," he replies, "been lookin' for some, so I went to Gideon's systems and poked around."

"Yes, thank you, Mr. Rory," Gideon replies, sounding this close to huffing.

Ray's eyebrows shoot to his ridiculous hairline. "You... _hacked_ Gideon?"

The next time he taps a surface, he gets a nasty shock.

"Don't treat 'er like she's just a computer," Mick translates. "You're her charge and her friend."

Ray droops in on himself like Mick just kicked a crying orphan. "Oh, I..."

But Gideon interrupts, "Mr. Palmer, I am well aware of what I am and have no sense of 'shame'. Mr. Rory's  _hacking_ ," oh yeah, she's gonna snitch on him, "briefly overloaded a large circuit. Some electrical charge has been left behind in the structural foundations. I imagine this has carried over to other rooms on board."

Ray's wide eyes regard a snorting Mick.

"You walked right into it," Mick tells him, "I didn't even plan that one."

Ray rolls his eyes and goes to the sleek steel fridge. He yelps.

" _That_ one I planned."

Shaking out his hand, Ray asks, "Can I at least have a piece of that?"

Mick looks at him. Looks at his one-of-a-kind Milky Way. Looks back at him.

"You're gonna have to last 'til the anniversary for that, Haircut."

In a blink, Ray's beaming brighter than the stabbing eyesore the Waverider calls eco-friendly lights. "No worry about you lasting, then?"

Ah, shit. Mick didn't mean to tell 'im that. This is why Snart's the one who talks.

He tries, "I can still shave your head before then," but it's too late.

Ray puts a hand on his shoulder. "It'll grow back before I can have my piece."

Oh fuck, they are just. They're fucking  _cute_. Mick has a  _boyfriend_ and the two of 'em are bein'  _cute_ together. Forget smirking, Snart'd be giving one of his sharp laughs. He wouldn't smack Mick's shoulder or nothin', they don't do that, but he'd give him that  _look_ that best friends do when they wanna do somethin' like that.

"Mick? What's wrong?"

Sometimes, when Mick pokes at those charred remains, he feels a sting.

Ray squeezes. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asks again.

Soft, he'd jeer at himself. Like a fuckin' kid's toy.

"Snart," Mick grunts.

Then, out of the blue, Ray chirps, "How about we make a bet?"

Mick blinks. "What?"

"I bet I can scare you before the mission's over."

"...what?"

Ray grins, "Come on, it'll be fun! If I win, I get to play around with that Chronos suit."

That son of a bitch'll eat Palmer alive. It's programmed not to be tampered with by anyone who doesn't register as the owning hunter or a Time Master. Whatever he wants to do, Mick'll have to be there to make sure he doesn't kill himself. Pretty much what he does already, though.

Besides, there's no way Ray's winning this. Mick is a trained assassin; ain't no way this tall ball of sunshine's sneakin' up on him.

"When I win," he says, "what do I get?"

Cockiness isn't a good look on Ray. His heroic face wasn't made for it. "You won't."

"When I win," Mick reiterates, slower, "what do I get?"

He's rewarded with that slump of shoulders, head tilt, and slight parting of the lips that makes Ray Palmer's exasperated fuss. "Well, what do you want?"

Good question. What  _does_ he want?

(He wants his best friend back, his buddy, his partner. Wants to forget ever being a Time Puppet. Wants to crawl into a bonfire so he can try his hand at laughing again.)

"A big bag 'a peanut butter M&M's," he says. Lenny's favorite.

Ray holds out his hands. When Mick regards them with suspicion, he says, "We'll shake both hands so I know you're not crossing your fingers behind your back."

Mick offers his hands even as he gripes, "I ain't twelve, Haircut."

Thing is, Ray doesn't make a silly X formation. He just takes Mick's hands like they're in a fucking romance novel and  _sways_ them.

Mick yanks away from him and grabs his Milky Way. "You got about thirty hours, Palmer," he smirks, "let's see what you got."

On the mission, Ray does something stupid, as usual. But this time he gets shrapnel scattered in his gut. Not his normal kinda stupid.

As he's choking on his own blood, he reaches for Mick's pale face and stutters, "I win."

Mick doesn't even know what he's talking about for a second. Then he's shouting in the fucker's face, "Did you do this on purpose?!"

Ray snorts a tiny laugh, inspiring more blood to gurgle from his lips. "No, you walked right into that one," he rasps, "I didn't even plan this."

"Don't go repeating what I told you, you rich jackass," Mick snarls. He hears Rip tell him the Waverider's approaching the landing site. "Let's get you to the med bay."

He jumps when the ATOM suit shocks him.

Ray hisses a giggle. " _That_ one I planned."

"I'm gonna fucking kill you." And Mick could've looked serious, but he's too busy trying not to fucking laugh, because if the idiot's bein' this smiley, he'll be just fine.

 

So here they are in the ill-used armory. The Chronos suit's compartment slides open with a hiss, sliding into Mick's hands like muscle memory.

On instinct, Mick searches for that place in his head where the Time Masters downloaded his little itinerary. He goes over his weapon stock, possible targets in the area, and. And there's a warm hand squeezing his shoulder.

"Come on," Ray murmurs, "I got my lab ready."

Mick opens his mouth to warn him, but he finds he can't speak. It happens sometimes, when Chronos starts rearing his ugly helmet. The Time Masters couldn't put a real muzzle on him, so they planted a mental one instead. They're not around to trigger it anymore; guess they don't need to be.

Ray's tugging him into the corridor. Not towards the labs, though. Snart made sure he and Mick knew every nook and hatch of this ship, and this ain't the way to Ray's nook. If anything, it's towards...

Gideon opens the ship door without comment. Come to think of it, Mick hasn't seen anyone else who'd usually make comments themselves. Where is everybody?

"We're in Central City, or," Ray tilts his head, "what  _will_ be Central City. Right now it's just a patch of undiscovered land. We couldn't do this in our time without running the risk of interruption, so the 1700's will have to do. Don't worry, the closest Native American tribe is at least fifty miles from here."

Mick tries to ask what's going on, but his muzzle's still strapped tight so he's gotta settle for a confused once-over.

Ray gives him a little sweet smile. "I told you I wanted to play around with the suit," he says. "You never asked what I meant. Before you guess, no, I don't want to tinker with it. When I first saw it, I did. That kind of future tech was fascinating to me; I couldn't wait to see how it ticked, what improvements it could make, what knowledge I'd gain from it. Then I realized what it means.

"It's not just a piece of armor, is it? It's lifetimes of pain; it's what you went through because me and the team didn't trust you, didn't even think about giving you the benefit of the doubt. You sold us out to the pirates, but we― _I_ should've stuck to my word when I told you before that I knew you were more than just a criminal. You and Snart, you never do things without a reason, and I should've thought of that. I didn't deserve a second chance, but you let me have so much more than that anyway."

Is he get down on one knee or somethin'? Mick swallows, like that'll loosen his tongue.

Ray gestures to the suit, "So here's how I'm going to play with Chronos: I'm gonna burn him with the fires of Mick Rory."

Words come back in a breathless rush, but Mick can't pick a single one from the bunch. He drops the suit instead and takes out his gun.

"It'll burn anything," he mumbles, hoarse from his muzzle and this damn beautiful dumbass, "don't need nothin' but the trigger and good 'nough aim."

Ray scrunches his face. "Oh. See," scratching behind his ear, "I'm not very good at aiming? The ATOM suit pretty much aims for me, y'know, because of the lock-on systems I put in there. Just ask Sara, she'll tell you. So, uh. Could you aim for me?"

Not even his pretty face can make up for how shitty he is at lying.

"Shoulda known," Mick says, "y'don't look the type for a decent shot." Even though he's heard Ray's rambles about the ATOM suit and subsequently his proud declarations of his not using missile lock since Kendra and Carter came back months ago.

Ray grins, "Yep. Just hopeless, me."

And he'd never pass up an opportunity to brag about himself either.

Mick takes them a few steps back. "This'll take a minute," he says, "suit's made for extreme temperatures."

With that, he switches on his gun's highest setting, takes aim, and for the first time since his hazy institution days, his hands shake.

He tries steadying them. Tries thinking about every monstrosity he committed in that fucking robot suit. Tries thinking about how good it's gonna feel when he and Ray return to the Waverider knowing that Chronos isn't lurking in the armory anymore.

Eventually, he all but slams his arm back to his side with an explosive, " _Fuck_!"

In the ensuing quiet, Ray murmurs, "They won't let you."

Mick glances at him. Doesn't look at the fucking suit. Gives a sharp shake of the head.

The transformation that follows is something Mick never thought possible of Ray Palmer. Slowly but surely, a warrior's aggressive certainty pours into his stance, settling his expression into a silent battle cry. The usual enticing spark in his eyes lights into an inferno that's shocking on its own, to the point where Mick can only stand there in naked amazement with familiar jitters creeping up his spine.

Ray snatches the heat gun. "I," takes aim, "won't let them," finger on the trigger, swift and sure, "stop you anymore."

A bright roar of light erupts in the clearing. Like Mick predicted, it takes a minute, but nevertheless Chronos starts melting away. In a couple centuries, he'll be buried under the city Mick Rory loves―under the home of Mick Rory's best friend.

Lenny helped set the wheels of Chronos' birth into motion. How poetic that he's gonna be the one to walk all over his grave.

Ray's face doesn't change throughout the entire thing. The light's undoubtedly hurting his eyes, but he keeps staring at it with that same dogged determination he's become known for; only now, the earnestness behind it has been replaced with analytical precision. A scientist's intense concentration, Mick muses, yet a kind he's never seen on this scientist. There's no clenching fist, no quirk of the mouth, just a battle stance and a calculated flame.

If Ray was like this in battle, the enemy would burn before Mick could reach for his holster.

At last, Ray loosens on the trigger and lowers the gun. He doesn't take his eyes off of Chronos' pyre until the whole thing catches alight. When he does, Mick blows out a sharp breath. Ain't nothin' like fire staring back at you.

Ray stalks to him. He replaces the heat gun in its holster, before taking Mick's face in his hands and proclaiming, "The Time Masters are dead.  _Chronos_ ," he spits the name like poison, "is dead."

Mick's inhale is just as sharp. "I owe―"

That softness is back like a flipped switch. "No, Mick," Ray says, putting their foreheads together, "that's not how this works. We do things like this for each other not because we want to repay a debt. I wanted to burn that thing because I care about you. That's it."

Mick...stares. "So...like, for free?"

Ray nuzzles his forehead, smiling, "Yeah. For free."

"Hmph. I'll still find somethin' to steal, y'know."

"Of course you will."

After that, they sit down and stare at the flames. Mick sinks into his well-worn reverence with a quiet sigh.

"You get a pass," he says.

Ray asks, "For what?"

Mick takes his hand. "For this. The―touching stuff."

Even as Ray perks up, he says, "I told you, I didn't do this―"

"I ain't sayin' it 'cause of that. It's the..." a vague gesture, "free thing."

For once, Ray doesn't respond with words. Instead, he cautiously slides closer without releasing Mick's hand, and leans against him. When Mick doesn't move away, he slowly lowers his head until it plops on Mick's shoulder.

Mick merely gives him a raised eyebrow. Ray's grin rivals the stars.

"Does this mean you're not gonna shave my head?"

"Don't push your luck."

Yeah. Freedom's good.

 

**5\. Chopped**

Mick's been to Louisiana a few times. One of those times, a solo job went south and he had to escape through the swamps. Got a couple leeches for his trouble, which Snart had to pull off in their hotel room in a whirlwind of unappreciated sass.

When Mick concedes to PDA with Ray Palmer, he gets something like that. Because Ray milks this new aspect of their relationship to previously unknown heights.

He drapes himself on Mick like Leonard Snart on any given surface. Now, Mick's highly adaptable despite his bitching at Snart when plans change or something doesn't go his way. He and Lenny have―had that in common. This, however, takes some time getting used to.

Because here's the thing: Mick went countless lifetimes without human touch. Before that, any touch he experienced was either a threatening hand, the Snart siblings' tugging him out of things, or said siblings displaying incredibly rare bouts of affection. Suddenly he went from not knowing how touch-starved he was to  _knowing how touch-starved he was_.

Yes, he fucking loves Ray becoming his personal fucking octopus. Sue him.

In light of this, what Mick really needs to get used to is how much he craves the damn touching. And the team's looks when it happens, but Mick can glare away most of those and Sara just nods her head after the initial shock. Kendra even pulls him aside and tells him how happy she is, that she never would've imagined him and Ray but how they somehow  _fit_ anyway.

Mick's living in a fucking sitcom. If there's an afterlife, Snart's probably snickering behind his back.

Well, fuck 'im. Mick's gonna enjoy this while it lasts.

('Cause no, he's not so stupid as to think Ray's not gonna open his eyes one 'a this days and realize who the fuck it is he's kissing.)

So when Jax suggests an honest-to-God team sleepover, Mick lets Ray drag him into it. Somewhere, 2015 Mick Rory is looking around and wondering why he suddenly feels ridiculous.

Thing is, the team's tastes in movies are all over the place. At one point, Mick actually thinks a fistfight's gonna break out over  _Planet Earth_ vs.  _Nightmare on Elm Street_ ―the second of which, surprisingly, being suggested by Kendra. Though Mick should've known that woman had a taste for slasher flicks. She's somethin' else.

Ray's wrapped around his torso, content to be the held instead of the holder, which was the role he's often played in past relationships. That and Mick's interest in a good fight keep Mick from speaking up.

Only when he realizes there ain't gonna be a fight outside of pointless bickering does he say, "So you want a documentary with weapon action?"

He has Gideon put on a marathon of  _Chopped_. "What?" he says to everyone's gaping jaws, "i's what you wanted."

Normally he'd be sitting through  _Top Chef_ , but that's Lenny's favorite. He can think about him, talk about him, but he still can't do more than occasionally touch the ring hanging under his shirt. The loss of his best friend isn't a tangible thing outside of that void at his side. Mick's not looking forward to the day the rest of it slams into him.

He tugs Ray closer to warm himself back up. Ray's all too happy to wiggle into his arm. It doesn't erase the foreboding completely, but it's enough.

The team watches a couple episodes. Stein sometimes comments on how delicious some of the food looks while Jax starts whining about how he's getting hungry. Sara gets snacks― _sugary_ ones, bless her―for all of them before unceremoniously plopping on Kendra's lap.

Mick wants to cackle every time she does that. Carter's fucking face when he sees how gay his supposed soulmate is for Sara Lance is a  _treasure_. He managed to sneak a picture of it once with the fancy new phone Gideon outfitted him with when he dared her to surprise him while drunk off his ass. He's still considering what to do with it.

Those thoughts halt when one of the contestants sprinkles tarragon on their chicken.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he gripes.

"What?" Sara asks.

"Chick's puttin' th'wrong spice in her damn chicken. Y'don't put fuggin'  _terragon_ inna mix like th'one she got!"

Yes, Mick will attest to having a bit of an accent. There's something about farm life that leaves a thick underlying drawl. Usually it comes out mostly in the way he sometimes drags out his words, but when he's especially tired or watching his shows, it comes out full force.

"What was that voice?" Jax laughs.

"And how much Food Network have you watched, exactly?" Ray asks.

After consciously regaining his habitual tone, Mick answers both their questions in one go: "I grew up on a farm with seven brothers, one sister, and a mother who got sick more often than she was on her feet. And I got to watch the fire on the stove. Seemed like the way to go."

"Wait," Kendra interjects, "so all this time, we've been eating Waverider food with a  _chef_ on board?"

"I ain't a chef, Birdie." Although he definitely was, at least when Snart worked up the nerve to realize he could just  _ask_ Mick for things instead of ordering him around. Lisa always begged for his fried chicken on her birthday. But that's besides the point, because he's not one  _now_. "Make your own damn food."

Then Ray, the son of a bitch, snuggles his way up to Mick's shoulder and asks, "Can I try something, though? You know, boyfriend privilege and all."

"Just for that," Mick declares, "you're never getting anything I make."

After the team falls asleep, Mick shoves a batch of his mother's snickerdoodles at him. Ray  _melts_. It becomes one of their Things.

 

**4\. What's in a Name?**

During a recon mission in 2024 New York City, the Legends hear a strange conversation over the comms:

Mick snarls, "What the fuck did you just call 'em?"

Ray replies, "Did I say it wrong?"

"Did you sa―where did you grow up, Boy Scout, under a  _rock_?"

"It was a long time ago! How am I supposed to remember all the names?!"

"This is first gen shit, Palmer!"

"Uh, guys?" Firestorm says, "Everything okay?"

"Not now!" Mick snaps, before addressing Ray again: "I ain't showing 'em to you until you get it fucking  _righ_ _t_."

"Come on, Mick!" Ray whines, "It's just a―"

" _Raymond._ "

Although separated, the team winces in unison.

"Fine, fine," Ray says. "Charmander."

...what?

There's an audible  _smack_! "Ow!"

"This ain't a Charmander, you fuckwit!" Mick says.

"It's a fire dragon thing! Isn't that what Charmander is?"

"I'm gonna rip your hair out and you're gonna  _deserve it_."

"Wait," Kendra chirps, "there's a Charmander here? Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"It ain't a Charmander, damn it!" Mick bellows, "It's a  _Charizard_. Say it!"

"Charzard?"

" _Ray_!"

"Charizard! Charizard! Don't shoot me!"

"A Charizard?" Firestorm yelps, "No way! Where?"

"I'm gettin' my hands on that," Sara agrees.

"We have a mission!" Rip weakly argues.

"Don't worry Grey," Firestorm says, "I'll get it for yours too. Yeah, it's real valuable."

"And don't lie, Rip," Sara teases, "you're totally headed that way right now. Admit it, we got you hooked."

" _No_ , you did not."

Mick says, "Asshole's a liar, I can see him peekin' around the corner."

Ray cries, "I got it! I got it!"

"You got  _what_ , Haircut?"

With utmost sincerity that no one expected, Ray says, "I got a Charizard, Mick."

"Damn right."

"Bollocks!" Rip mutters, "Get in there!"

 

**3\. S'mores**

It's already been a whole year since Savage was destroyed. In the course of these time traveling events, there comes a time where the Legends gather together without Rip Hunter breathing down their necks to discuss the Jonah Hex Problem.

They hold this problem to be self-evident, that Rip's love for Hex is created equal to the love he held for his wife. And so they declared to solve it now that they're a bone fide team and have scrounged up enough fondness to want Rip's happiness.

And hey, even if by some cosmic mistake Rip and Hex didn't at least bang each other like a screen door, at least Rip will have a dear friend one way or another.

Gideon's been consulted on the matter. She reveals that Jonah Hex has indeed appeared throughout different points in history, despite his lack of possessing any sort of time traveling technology. Meaning his time husband (Kendra's giggly words, not Mick's) came back for him.

Finally, Mick says, "If I gotta play fucking matchmaker, I'm blowing up a town."

And Sara gets this  _look_ in her eye.

"Hey Gideon," she says, with a smirk that looks so much like Snart's Mick almost can't look at it, "are there any ghost towns near Jonah Hex's location after, say, a year or two after our visit?"

"There is one, Miss Lance," Gideon reports. If Mick didn't know any better, he'd say she was  _excited_. "Mr. Hex's riding path directs him through it on the Fourth of July, 1872."

She looks at Mick, and he grins, "Well, Happy Independence Day."

Ray looks at the picture of the town and says, "I think I can lay some groundwork so you can set the whole thing up in one blast. If you want?"

Mick throws an arm around his shoulders. "I like the way you think."

"Hey," Kendra says, "let's focus on the other gay couple."

"Yeah," Sara says, hooking their arms, "I've been feeling neglected."

" _Sara_."

(Mick gets another picture of Carter's face. Somehow, it's even better than the last one.)

 

"What are you all doing?" Rip asks dubiously from his study. He's spent another week holed up in it again, and he looks like shit.

"We're gonna make some s'mores," Jax replies.

" _What_?"

"Gideon!" Sara calls, settling into the captain's chair, "Chart a course. Codeword: S'mores."

"Yes, Miss Lance," Gideon responds. She sounds positively  _gleeful_ ; not for the first time, Mick wonders who her creator was.

"Better strap in, Captain," Carter says. He's finally growing a sense of humor.

Rip barely has time to throw on his duster and slide into Sara's usual seat, "What do you think you're―"

Mick takes a video of the team's faces during the time jump. Now that he's so used to the lurch, he can relish in the others' suffering through it. Better than shitty reality TV.

"Aw man," Ray groans, "I can't feel― _it_ again."

Mick smirks, "Need some help?"

Unfortunately, Rip yells over Ray's blushing stammer. " _What_ _on Earth_ is going on?!"

He's struck into dumb silence when Gideon dutifully reports, "We have arrived in Durango, Oklahoma, July 4th, 1872."

Kendra stumbles to her feet. "Well?" she says, "S'mores let's go make!"

She falls flat on her face. Carter makes an aborted move to try and stop her, but he can't seem to feel his arms.

Mick is  _giggling_.

 

As if to prove the team's hypothesis on the Brokeback Mountain vibe, Rip fusses incessantly over his appearance before disembarking. He only scolds them as a formality, if anything, obviously too excited to see his  _friend_ again.

"Gideon," Sara says, "when is Jonah Hex due to arrive?"

Gideon helpfully replies, "Mr. Hex is entering Durango as we speak."

Rip actually leaps from his seat, saying, "If we won't be disturbing the timeline  _for once_ ," glancing a censorious eye over the team, "I suppose it would be remiss of us not to say hello. It's not like he hasn't already seen us, since  _Gideon_ ," raising his voice, "hasn't bothered with cloaking!"

"As Mr. Hex is the only one within sight, I thought it unnecessary, Captain."

Mick's  _gotta_ know who her creator was.

Rip mutters to himself like a fucking old man on his way out. The team scampers after him.

Ray, having had time to suit up but for his helmet, practically kisses Mick's ear as he whispers, "Ready?"

Mick's nerves hum in anticipation. "Born ready, Haircut."

The ATOM sneaks something from a compartment Gideon opens in the wall. Once it's in his hands, he shrinks.

 

Before Hex can do more than dismount, Rip's shrieking, "Why is that roof on fire?!  _Mr. Rory!_ "

"What?" Mick cackles, "We're makin'  _s'mores_!"

The ATOM returns to normal size. While he discards the lighter fluid, White Canary pulls out metal sticks and Hawkgirl reaches into her purse for the supplies. Rip should've suspected right away just from that purse, really. His fault he was too in love to think straight.

(Mick can almost feel Lenny's laugh.)

Hex has to ride out of town and find a place for his horse to graze. He comes back looking annoyed, but when he speaks to Rip it's with the same fondness the team saw on his face when he rode away the last time.

"Why is it that everytime I see you, somethin' blows up?" he asks, hands pushing back his coat to land on his hips.

As if on cue, the abandoned saloon explodes behind Rip.

"This was  _not_ supposed to happen," Rip says through clenched teeth.

"Well," Hex says, "at least it ain't somebody's livelihood anymore. What're s'mores?"

"You've never had s'mores?" Jax exclaims, like this is a surprise because again, 1872, "Man, get over here! Rory got some great fires going!"

Ray hands Mick a s'more, but Mick's far too distracted to eat. As Rip and Hex chat it up, Ray contents himself to stand at Mick's side and eat his own s'more.

"Y'know," he says after a while, "I can understand why you like it so much. I mean, apart from the mental illness part." Mick makes a distracted noise. "It's dynamic in its own way. Bright, too. Leaves a mark wherever it goes, and people always remember it."

The bastard nudges Mick's shoulder and adds, "Like you."

Mick rounds on him. " _Really_?"

Ray grins, unashamed. "Really!"

 _Fucking romantic son of a..._ Mick stomps to the other side of the dirt road.

Since his conditions were met, he loudly tells Rip and Hex to "fucking get on with it already" on his way. There. Job done.

 

**2\. Freight Train**

It's finally time: the day when the rest of it slams into Mick. The day where he looks around and fully, tangibly realizes that his best friend is dead.

One minute he's being roped into a squabble over temporal physics with Ray and Stein, the next he's staring at the cold gun in its polished case, breathless in the aftermath. He barely registers Ray quietly telling Stein they'll talk later, or the old man patting his shoulder on his way out. He doesn't even know he's on his knees until he choking a moan into Ray's arm, the kind some people emit when they're about to get sick.

But Mick doesn't throw up. Everything stays stubbornly inside, slicing his insides apart with only the barest relief of teardrops and hoarse croaks. He ain't a pretty crier: there's snot and big fat tears, loud halting breaths, blotchy red spots, a yell or two. This is Ray's new sweater, he thinks dimly, and he's gettin' shit all over it.

Ray doesn't say a word. Just props his chin on Mick's head and stays wrapped tight around him. It strikes Mick then that this is the first time he can remember crying in front of someone who cared. Damn.

Snart never cried in front of him. Definitely not in front of his baby sister. He won't have another chance now, 'cause he's fucking  _dead_ , he's  _dead_ , and no one's ever gonna pick up that cold gun, no one who deserves it, because Lenny is  _dead_ , he's  _gone_ , he's―Mick chokes on another scream.

The only thing Ray says to him throughout this humiliating breakdown is a soft, "I'm here."

 

**1\. Did You Sail Across the Sun?**

Two years now. A year and a half for Mick and Ray's relationship.

It's become a habit of Ray's to sit at the Waverider's front windows when he can't sleep. Mick usually rolls over when he leaves at buttfuck o'clock, but he figures tonight is as good as any since they hit a year and a half.

Ray gives him a tired smile. "Did I wake you?"

Yeah. "Nah," Mick says, "got hungry."

He sits next to him. In his usual forward way, he kisses Ray without preamble. Ray makes a surprised noise―Mick still doesn't initiate many kisses―but sinks into it as fast as it came.

His eyebrows furrow a little at a rustling sound. He tries to distract himself from it by stroking his thumb across Mick's cheek, but it persists. Almost sounds like a wrapper.

Ray's eyes open wide. It  _is_ a wrapper. And it's being pressed into his hands.

"Looks like you made it without a shaved head after all," Mick says. "Nice job."

Ray's never been so happy to see a Milky Way in his life.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Maybe Milky Way can be their Always.  
> I don't know what it is with pairing my ships with candies.
> 
> I've said it for coldwave, and I'll say it with equal enthusiasm for atomwave: LET THIS SHIP RISE
> 
> (Thank you for reading!)


End file.
